Real
by Mikha
Summary: **SPOILERS FOR THE LAST BOOK** Katniss is learning to deal with being back in District 12 and the losses of the war. The challenges include learning how to live with herself and with others, particularly Peeta.
1. Chapter 1

Real

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games and its characters, they belong to Suzanne Collins. This is a fanfic that deals with what happened between Peeta's return to District 12 and the Epilogue in the last book. There will be spoilers, so if you haven't read it, you've been warned Enjoy!

Chapter 1

I'm exhausted. To say it's only physically would be a lie, but at the moment I do feel physically exhausted. It hasn't been a long day, and I haven't done much to merit such exhaustion. I got up quite late, went to the woods to hunt and stayed there until six in the evening.

I didn't hunt much. I came back with a couple of rabbits that got caught in snares. I didn't even do the job. They just were there by chance and got caught. I did not stalk them, I did not chase them, I did not shoot them. I didn't even set the snares today, they have remained from some other day when my mind was on it.

But today my mind wasn't on it. All I did was cry.

It's difficult for me to understand how I have become so… weak. The faintest memory makes me cry. Smells, colours, flowers… even silly mockingjays make me cry. They remind me too much of things I've lost. No, not things, people I've lost. Water reminds me too much of Finnick, mockingjays of Rue… dear sweet Rue. Flowers remind me of Prim, my sweet little sister, who grew up so much right under my nose, only to be blown away in a second.

My precious Prim is gone.

While I can come to terms with some of my losses, Prim is not one of them. She shouldn't have been there. She shouldn't have been anywhere near the battlefield! Yes, it must have been Coin's plan to expose her, and that thought alone makes me feel less guilty about having killed her.

Yes, the people I've killed weigh heavily on my heart as well. I will carry them forever, that much I know. Even if people say those deaths were justified, I cannot see that. Nor can I see the deaths of people who died to protect me as just. Finnick didn't have to die for me, nor did Castor, or Messalla… not one of them had to die for me.

Today, however, all my grief has been for Prim. A tiny yellow flower is growing near Gale and mine's hunting spot. I had just got there today, was preparing my bow… and there it was, staring up at me as if it had eyes, and I broke down. I broke down and cried for the rest of the day, until the fading light roused me back to reality.

Now, in my kitchen, I sit with my unlucky prey staring at me with empty eyes. Even Buttercup doesn't know what to make of it, and just hisses at it once in a while.

Buttercup. It's a wonder that flea bag is still here. I suppose I do feed him, so he sticks around, but maybe it's the memory of Prim that keeps us together. We lost the one dearest to us at the same moment… only difference is that I saw it happen. He at least was spared that.

Prim… you'd have turned fourteen today.

In my dreams I'm airborne. I drift slowly through space, partly wrapped in something warm, but I cannot feel much. I cannot hear much either, except what resembles soft hammer blows somewhere in the distance. The rest is darkness, not like the absence of light, but more like a void in which I swim effortlessly. When the nightmares find me, they come on strong, and mostly of Prim dying.

It's the smell that wakes me ultimately. As I open my eyes, I can see that it's quite dark outside. One quick look at the clock and I see it's almost midnight. I'm shaking like a leaf, and I'm sweating all over, my nightgown sticking to my skin.

My nightgown… I'm in my bed. How did I get here?

Sitting up I scan the room. Everything looks normal, everything except the conspicuous loaf of bread on the bedside table. Peeta must have been here, he must have carried me upstairs and changed me. He must have brought the bread with him. As I reach for it, I notice that it's still warm, so he cannot have been here too long ago.

I get out of bed and bite into the bread, letting its warmth fill me. I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. There he is, stoking the fire in my oven, looking more like an apparition than a real human being.

"Peeta," I say, but he doesn't turn. I can see his hand clenching the poker so strongly that his knuckles have gone white. He's having a tracker jacker flashback, and he's potentially armed. I know I should leave the kitchen, but I just stand there quietly until he calms down. Buttercup looks from one to the other, his nose wet with the milk Peeta obviously brought for him. Peeta… tormented by poison induced flashbacks in which he feels the need to kill me. He will calm down soon, I hope. And I can tell when he does, for his hand releases the poker and he turns to me. His smile is small but kind.

"You're up," he says, his voice small too.

"Yes, thank you for the bread, it's delicious."

"I'm glad. I'm just making some more, so you have some in the morning. Then I'll go home."

"Thank you."

He nods, and I walk in closer, pulling a chair and sitting down. The fire warms me, and the scent of warm bread fills my senses again. Breaking a piece of the loaf I'm holding, I offer it to him, and he takes it, sitting down across from me. Mostly he avoids contact, afraid of what he might do if he is too close to me when he has a flashback.

"You brought me upstairs," I say.

"Yeah. I came to check on you and found you asleep at the table. You looked like you'd had a rough day, so I carried you up."

"You changed me, too."

"Nah, that was Greasy Sae. Didn't think you'd want me to do it."

He looks away, which in itself is strange. Earlier, when he said things like that, he'd always look me straight in the eyes, and I'd find myself blushing and unsure of what to do. But now his eyes do not seek mine, and I'm left alone with my embarrassment. Of course, I do know why this is. Whatever Peeta felt for me earlier… it is gone. His mind was tortured too much for my sake, and I was too close to Gale for his comfort.

"Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome."

We sit there for a while, and I offer him tea, which he gratefully accepts. It helps to keep warm, so I'm glad for it. I realise, too, that he has drained and skinned the rabbits. When we first really met he wouldn't have known how to do this, but now he does. We've come a long way since the reaping… no. Since he gave me the loafs of bread when we were eleven.

Finally, he declares the bread done and takes it out of the oven. They look beautiful. There's no other word with which to describe them right now. He must have had a lot of time, as he carved figures into the dough, and they baked perfectly. He is an artist.

"I best get going, then," he says. "You'll want to rest."

"You, too, I suppose."

"No. I'm not sleeping much these days."

That surprises me. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Too many things," he gives a half-hearted chuckle. I think of something to say, but I come up blank. He, however, seems to be willing to talk. "I just keep thinking about them. My parents and my brothers, about how they didn't out, and now are buried in the meadow with everybody else. I wonder if they suffered… I wonder if… I don't know."

"You wonder if they thought of you?"

He sighs. "My father may have, but the others… I don't know." He paces about the kitchen. "My mother… she wanted a girl, you know? After two strong boys, what she wanted a little girl. All she got was a wimpy son."

"You're not wimpy, Peeta. You survived more than they can ever imagine. They must have seen you in the Games that first time… the second…"

"Oh, they saw me, alright. They saw me getting beat up, cut, almost eaten by mutts… But do you know what they said to me when we got back? My brothers… They said: 'You're only alive because she pretended to love you.' That's what they said."

The sadness in his eyes can only be matched by my shock. I might have convinced the Capitol and the sponsors that I loved Peeta, but his own family knew it was not true.

"Didn't they think you were pretending, too?" I ask.

"Hahaha, good joke. They could see I wasn't faking it."

"How do you know?"

"My mother, she said that I was crazy to think that you'd ever actually love me."

"And your father?"

"He understood. How could he not? He had loved your mother." His smile is bittersweet. "Yes, he understood, but he also felt bad for me."

"Why didn't they move in with you to the Victor's Village?"

"They didn't want to. They didn't think I deserved it. They thought you did. Of them all, I think only my father would have considered it, but he was too attached to his bakery to leave. That's why I moved in alone."

"I'm so sorry, Peeta."

"Don't be. You are very lucky, you know? Even with Prim gone, you have your mother who loves you, even though she is far away. Your sister loved you, your father loved you, and at least now they are together."

"Don't go there…" I feel the anger rising in me.

"I have to, Katniss. You need to see."

"Don't."

"You must have made the connection, they died in a very similar way…"

"Shut up!" Why is he doing this? Is this his way to torture me? To finally kill me?

"Whatever else happened, he took her with him. She's with him, and she's safe."

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I lost my siblings, too."

"But they didn't love you!" I'm so angry I do not stop the words. "They did not volunteer to take your place, they let you go and expected you to die! Not Prim! She believed in me!"

I'm crying in anger, and all I want is for him to go. How can he be so cruel? How can he… !

"You can't compare what happened to you with what happened to me!"

"No, I can't," he says firmly. "Good night, Katniss."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I wake up screaming.

The sun is up, and it has been up since quite a while ago. I sit in my bed and look out of the window. Spring is in full bloom, and the sight of flowers does nothing to make the nightmares go away. They do nothing to fill the void in my chest. Part of me wishes to just stay in bed and not get up ever again, but Greasy Sae will not have any of it. I can hear her rummaging downstairs. I can smell soup.

And I can't deny that I'm hungry.

When I get to the kitchen, I can see Haymitch passed out on my table, the bottle at his hand, as usual. It's a strange sight, him in my kitchen, but I suppose Greasy Sae can't be everywhere at once and so has dragged him here for a very late breakfast.

I don't mind. If anyone understands the hollow space in my chest, it is him. We are too much alike, Haymitch and I. Our pasts are too similar, our crimes much the same, without our actual noticing. We unwittingly defied the Capitol, and we paid dearly for it.

There are moments, such as these, when I consider joining Haymitch and just get myself drunk and into oblivion. The bottle is between my reach, but then the look Greasy Sae gives me tells me that if I dare make a move for it, she'll chop me up before Haymitch can get his knife.

"Sit down and stay put," she tells me, and minutes later she sets a bowl in front of me and one in front of Haymitch. "Wake up, Haymitch, get some food in you." He only grunts, so Greasy Sae gives him a good elbow to the ribs. He sits up and stares blankly into his bowl, then he looks up at me. "Eat! There's bread, too, if you want it."

Bread. Of course. Even though we haven't spoken or seen each other for over a week, Peeta still brings me bread every day. Today's selection looks a lot like District 11 bread. Peeta has been learning about bread in other districts, and he's getting quite good at it, even I have to admit that. He drew pictures of each type of bread in our book. It was quite touching to see the picture of this very bread: his imagined view of me receiving the loaf at the Hunger Games. I cried looking at that image, for I remembered Rue, and remembering Rue made me remember Prim.

Well, everything reminds me of her.

"You do know you're going to have to talk to him at some point, right?" Greasy Sae says, planting herself in front of me. "Otherwise I think he might go mad."

"Mad… from not talking to me?" I'm still angry for what he said about Prim. "Yeah, right. Peeta could make rocks talk to him. He doesn't need me."

"Has he spoken to you lately?" she asks Haymitch, but he just grunts again and concentrates on eating his soup. "See? He's not being very sociable lately. Whatever you two fought about it hurt him, too."

I'm about to protest when I realise she didn't just say it hurt him.

"You have to realise, Katniss, that you are not the only one suffering here."

Greasy Sae has never spoken to me like this, but even she can't understand.

"He spoke about Prim," I say, gritting my teeth. "He said some things he shouldn't have said."

"So did you."

For a moment, both Greasy Sae and I are surprised. In those three words, Haymitch has sounded more sobre and awake than… well, ever. He ignores us and keeps eating. Since I have nothing better to do, I eat as well, and Greasy Sae eventually leaves to tend to her business, whatever it is. Haymitch and I stay in silence. Eventually I make him some tea and we continue sitting in silence until I cannot take it anymore. Haymitch will understand, I know he will.

"He said my father had taken Prim."

He looks at me over the rim of his cup, his eyes not really expressive. Then he shrugs.

"What, you think he's right?"

"I do not think your father would have wanted his daughter to die, so no." I knew he'd understand. "I also do not think you can compare what happened to you with what happened to him."

"What?" Why is he saying that?

"I heard you that night. Well, you were screaming and I had to tend to my geese, didn't I? I have to say, he took it much better than I would have." At my questioning look, he goes on. "Argh… he left your house, went into his kitchen, stuffed a mouthful of bread in his mouth and screamed." His words stun me, as this is something that sounds more like something I would do, not Peeta. "Yeah, he screamed, and he cried, because what you said is true. His family did not care about him like yours cares for you, but it doesn't change the fact that losing them hurts him." Haymitch then gulps down his tea, as I just sit there not knowing what to do or say. "You can't compare what happened to you with what happened to him. You lost your sister, yes, and that's very tragic, no one is taking anything from that. But Peeta was tortured, saw people get tortured and killed in front of him so he would betray you. He had his memory hijacked, and all because he loved you. His only crime has been to love you so much that his need to protect you was greater than his self-preservation."

x-x-x

Haymitch's words eat at me. And they eat at me because, deep down, I know he's right. Peeta went through a lot, and what I said to him only makes light of his suffering. While I am still angry about what he said about Prim and my father, I also feel awfully guilty for what I said to him. Maybe if I hadn't been so angry I would have seen what I was doing to him.

And all that after he had come to help me, as he has done time and again, time and again. I am a horrible person, of that I am sure. Snow knew it, Coin knew it… even Gale knew it. Otherwise he wouldn't have told Peeta that I'd make a selfish choice when it came to love. No, not love, necessity. And then, who knows me better than Gale?

Gale… I haven't thought of him very much in ages. Sure, some things remind me of him, and at the back of my mind, he is always there. Part of me thinks that I could get over his involvement in Prim's death, but the other part fears the proximity to him. Deep down, Gale has a hot burning fire that can consume everything around him. I understand, because so do I. When Cinna made me the girl on fire, he was reflecting something deep within me, something he recognized even though I didn't.

No, Gale and I would probably consume one another. And there is also the fact that we both failed each other when we most needed it. When he was taken captive, he asked me to shoot him. I did not. And after I shot Coin, I begged him to shoot me. He didn't.

Whatever we had before my first reaping… that is a life I can no longer go back to, no matter how much I could wish for it. It's gone forever.

We do talk sometimes. He calls me and tells me about his new life, the things he is doing, the people he meets… Hazelle and the children moved in with him, as the memories of District 12 proved too painful for them to return… like my mother. But talking to Gale is not enough to bring back what we had. He has changed, and I have changed. All in all, I do not think I could be comfortable anywhere else but here… if comfortable is what I am.

No. Haymitch and I are too much alike for that.

x-x-x

The nightmares are unbearable tonight. I wake up screaming my head off, and I'm in darkness. My eyes are wide open, but I cannot see anything. I cannot see my own hands. There's no moonlight seeping in from the window, no stars shining, no street lamps lighting the way… nothing. I'm not even sure that I'm awake, for I feel things in the shadows, things that cannot be real.

I hear mutts calling, hissing my name again and again, hunting me down. I have to run, I have to run now! Throwing the covers aside, I jump out of bed in just my nightgown, I yank the door open and run down the stairs in the dark. The house is quiet mostly, except for the hissing that continues to ring in my ears. I have to keep running, somewhere they can't catch me! Somewhere they…

And I'm outside before I know it, running past the quiet village, which is also in the dark. But I see them all, I see the dead, staring at me out of blank eyes, their charred bodies moving slowly and clumsily towards me. They are all there, pointing fingers at me, saying things I cannot understand. My breathing will not let me hear them. But I cannot stop running, now they are also chasing me, and soon the mutts and bodies will catch up with me.

As I run past the meadow, I can feel hands trying to grab me, and I cry desperately for help, trying to get away. How can this be? I am awake!

"Help!" I scream. "Help!"

In a second I'm under the fence, running into the dark woods, not sure which way I am going. Where can I hide? Where can I go that they won't find me?

Suddenly I feel surrounded, and the only way I can go is up. I climb the nearest tree, barefoot, and when I reach a sturdy fork, I sit there, hugging the trunk tightly. I can't calm down, my breathing is ragged and quick. Sweat is covering me, and the world is spinning, alive with the voices of people I now cannot see.

"Stop!" I cry. "Please, stop!"

"You killed us…" I hear distinctly. "You are responsible for our deaths! You burned our village!"

"No! I didn't! It wasn't me! It was the Capitol who burned you down!"

"It's your fault!"

I cover my ears as best as I can without losing my balance. I'm crying so much now, shaking so badly, I'm afraid I might fall, break my neck or something. Perhaps that would be better.

"You left us to die!"

"You let me go to the Hunger Games!" I cry back, knowing full well there was nothing they could have done to prevent it. "Me and how many others!"

"And yet," his voice is calm and close, so familiar and alien at the same time, "there was a time when you, Katniss Everdeen, voted to have another Hunger Games, to send innocent children from the Capitol to kill each other."

"I did it for Prim!"

"That doesn't change the fact that you were condemning 23 children to death. Children!"

"I did it for Prim!" I'm trying to convince this strange apparition of Snow, but he just looks at me in the eyes. How did he get so close to me? He is so close that I can smell his bloody breath and the white rose I had placed on his lapel. "Get away from me!"

"You are as bad as the rest of us, Katniss Everdeen, and you will pay for it."

"Help!" I scream. But who can help me? Who is left?

"There's no one to help you, Katniss Everdeen, your fire has burned to the end. All your loved ones have deserted you, you have no one left!"

"No! Peeta! Help!"

The scream gets stuck in my sore throat. My eyes are wide open, my cheeks streaming with tears. The roof of my room is blurry, and the night sounds are faint in my ears as I shake. The only thing I can certainly hear is his voice, whispering in my ear, calling me back.

"I'm here," he says, and his arms around me, my back pressed against his chest, are more real than anything else I've felt in my life.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and the reviews :D I do appreciate them I do hope I am not going too out of character here, but I think some emotions run deep after the sort of trauma the characters have experienced.

Chapter 3

How is this possible?

How can he be here? My mind is still trying to process what's going on, but my body is responding on its own. I've turned in his arms, and my own are not wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders, clinging to him as if my life depends on it. I'm shaking all over, and crying as my breath catches. I feel so lost, so empty, that I wouldn't be surprised if I pass out.

But his arms are soothing. Now that I've turned, his left arm holds me by the shoulders, and his right hand goes up and down my back, trying to calm me. His head is against mine, his lips close to my ear as he continues to whisper things I barely hear.

He is like a rock, and barely flinches when my nails dig into his back as my sobs chokes me, the pain of the nightmare still coursing through me. Somewhere deep inside me, I notice the change in his breathing. He's taking deep breaths, and I wonder if he's getting tired of being here. The selfish part of me just dismisses the thought, convinced that there's no way I can let go yet. I feel too miserable, too scared to let go.

Eventually, though, I realise just what he is trying to do. As my own breathing calms, I realise that I have synchronised it with his. I'm still crying, but I am no longer choking.

"That's it," he whispers. "That's it. Just breathe."

And I find myself consciously breathing with him, taking each breath with his, and I begin to relax. It takes me a while to move, and when I do, I realise just how tightly I am holding him. My arms are stiff, and my head hurts from so much crying.

Feeling me loosen my grip, Peeta pulls back and looks at me. He smiles at me and cleans my face with his sleeve, snot and all. Without another word, he puts me back down, nestling me on the pillows. He is about to stand up and leave when I hold on to his arm.

"You want me to stay," he whispers, "real or not real?"

"Real," I croak, my voice hoarse from screaming. I close my eyes and turn to my side, facing the wall. I can hear him removing his shoes and clothes rustling, then I feel him getting into bed. His shirt is gone, probably dirty now after he cleaned my face, but his arms are warm around me. He makes himself comfortable around me, his forehead leaning against my head, and he lulls me to sleep.

x-x-x

When I awaken, I'm surprised to find myself rested. No nightmares came back to me, and I'm still enveloped in Peeta's arms. By his breathing I can tell he is still asleep. Once again, I start wondering how he came to be in my room, how is it he came to me the moment I needed him the most.

Obviously, I screamed a lot, but I don't think I screamed loud enough to hear me all the way to his house. Still, I'm grateful that he's here, however it is that he came to be here.

I just lie there waiting for him to wake up, but before that happens, I hear activity downstairs. Greasy Sae must be here.

When I move to sit up, Peeta wakes, and rubs his eyes.

"Morning..." he says.

"Morning."

He's looking at me, but I cannot read his expression.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks me, his hand coming up to my cheek. His voice is even, making it more difficult for me to guess what he's thinking.

"I am. Thank you for staying with me."

"You did call me."

He says nothing else to me, and I just look at him in astonishment.

"I..."

"You did scream my name."

"How did you get here so fast?"

"I came as soon as you started screaming. I tried to wake you, but it didn't work. I tried, and then you screamed my name, so I did the only thing I could think of, and that was take you in my arms. That's when you woke up."

"Thank you," I say. I know there's more I should be saying, lots more, but the words get stuck in my throat. The nightmare had completely overpowered me, and he helped me out of it. Perhaps I subconsciously called out for him because I felt him near.

"You're welcome." He sits up, and looks around for his shirt. As he does, I observe the scars on his back. The doctors repaired most of the damage, but some of the scars are still visible, much like in me. I reach a tentative hand as he puts on his shoes, and my fingers trace a scar just below his shoulder blade. He sits straight up, and turns to look at me, a bit stunned.

"Sorry," I say.

"It's okay," he says, pulling his shirt from the floor. "I do have a lot of other scars, if you want to see."

The glint in his eye tells me he's teasing me.

He finishes getting dressed and is on his feet.

"Greasy Sae is probably downstairs already," he tells me. "You should go eat." When I nod, he nods back. "I'll be going then."

I watch him as he walks to the door. I know I have to say something more. Why is it that when it comes to thanking Peeta I'm always lost for words? It was that way with the bread, and now with this. I just hope it doesn't take me another five years to be able to say anything to him.

"Do you want to work on the book this afternoon?" he asks, his hand at the door.

There... he's opened me a door to walk through.

x-x-x

I watch his hands as he paints. He hasn't said much since he arrived a couple of hours ago, and got to painting almost at once. I had written a few passages on the book over the last few days, so he is working on those now, while I write about something trivial, something that will not make me cry.

It's not easy, as a lot of things make me emotional these days. It's probably also partly because of my nightmare. I feel shaky and jumpy and can't focus much on what I'm doing. I have to concentrate hard and long before I can write anything.

"Are you going to tell me what it was about?" he asks, without looking at me. His hands are still carefully stroking the paper with his brush, adding colour to a picture of the miners' uniform.

"What was what about?" I ask.

"The nightmare last night." He does look at me now. "What was it that made you cry out like that? Were they hurting you?" There is concern in his eyes now, and I don't know what to say. Telling him what my nightmare was about would mean actually telling him what really haunts me. "You kept screaming 'I did it for Prim. I did it for Prim.' Were you talking about volunteering?"

"No... the Hunger Games." He looks confused. "The ones I voted yes to..."

My words hang in the air as they sink in. I know he understands, but he avoids looking at me. Something tells me this isn't going to end well.

"Who were you talking to?" he asks me.

"Snow. I was... justifying myself to him."

"For voting yes."

I nod, and I can see the shadow in his eyes. This is one point in which we did not agree, a point in which we never would have agreed. He can't possibly understand what drove me to vote yes at the moment.

"You did it for Prim, you said so at the moment."

"Yes. I did it for her. Her death was too recent, and too painful." That doesn't excuse what I did, I can see that in his demeanour. "I wanted revenge. I wanted..." I cannot explain it. "I wanted my life back, everything I'd lost since the reaping. I blamed Snow for taking it all away from me, and I was right. He took everything from me." I'm crying now. I'm crying because I know how hard this is, not only for me, but also for him. He lost a lot from the reaping onwards, and he suffered through hijacking on top of everything else. "And then..." I don't know if Peeta knows this... perhaps I shouldn't burden him with it.

"And then?"

"And then I realised Snow did not get Prim killed... her blood was not on him."

"What are you talking about? The explosions..."

"It was Coin." I crumple in my chair, crying loudly now. "Those were the bombs designed by Beetee and Gale, and she dropped them on those children. She sent Prim into the field..."

"Katniss..." he's standing now. "You can't be serious! Coin would never have..." Suddenly there is something in his eyes, and I can tell he's having another attack. He grabs on to the table edge and shakes, his face turning red with fury for a moment.

At last he screams, and stands up again. When he nears me, I have a fleeting moment of panic that he might hurt me, his anger is so strong. But he runs to the door instead, his fists still clenched.

"You killed Coin because of what she did to Prim," he says, his voice murderously low. "Real or not real?"

He almost doesn't wait for my answer as he runs outside to let the attack pass. At least he now knows that that very statement is very real.

I killed Coin for what she did to Prim.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Only... that's not the only reason.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in Haymitch's yard, pretending to care for the geese. I suppose, in a way, I am taking care of them, giving them grain and stuff. But they do tend to take care of themselves. It's a mystery to me, but somehow Haymitch has managed to train them and they don't run off far. They stay in their pen and just quack around.

Quack... Prim, my little duckey.

I sigh, and when I look down, I see Buttercup x-raying me with his eyes. It's like he can always tell when I'm thinking about Prim. This cat is odd. I swear he thinks and feels like human. Perhaps he is a mutt and I've never known it... that's the only explanation I can come up with.

The geese don't care much for him, and I have the feeling that is partly why they never leave their pen, afraid that they'll be snatched by this crazy cat here. He'd have a feast on them, but I assume it is an unspoken rule that, if the goose is in the pen, it has been claimed, if it's outside without supervision? It's fair game.

Whatever Buttercup is, he likes a fair game.

The sun is almost setting when Haymitch staggers outside and sits on the steps of his house, a bottle of white spirit in his hand. He looks as bad as usual, except that he looks well fed. Greasy Sae is really getting something into him, and he seems to manage to keep it down even with all the alcohol. He doesn't mind me much, just looks at his geese as if counting them. No idea why he does that, though.

As usual, he doesn't offer me a drink. No, Haymitch knows that once in a while he'll run out of booze, so there's no wasting it. Sometimes I wonder if I'd want some, but then I'm afraid that if I fall into a stupor I'll just make the nightmares worse. And I won't always have Peeta to calm me down again.

"Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he eyes me suspiciously, holding the bottle to his chest protectively. He really is economising it, taking small sips, making it last.

"Last one?" I ask. He nods, and mentally count the days until the next shipping... five. Oh, he's in for a rough ride then. "Don't worry, I'm all set."

"You got alcohol in there?" he asks, almost hopeful, but he knows me better than that. "Nah, of course not."

We're almost in complete darkness, but Haymitch doesn't move from the spot, so neither do I. Greasy Sae has gone into his house, and I can hear her moving around the kitchen. Eventually, the smell of whatever it is she's cooking comes out the windows, and I find myself sighing. Smells good. Really good. I can't tell if I'm hungry though, filled with my dark thoughts as I am.

As if able to read my mind, Haymitch asks: "So, where is lover boy?"

"Don't call him that," I say. If anything, Peeta is no longer lover boy. If Snow achieved something, it was that, killing the very part of Peeta that loved me. I suppose that's a good thing. The Katniss that Peeta loved doesn't exist anymore either. The Katniss that Peeta fed those loaves of bread... she was lost somewhere between the first arena and shooting that arrow through Coin's heart.

"Where is he?" Haymitch asks impatiently. I don't even know why he's asking me. He won't remember once he finishes that bottle of his.

"He ran off," I say at last. "I said something that triggered an attack and he ran for the hills."

"Really?" he almost looks amused now. "What could you possibly have said that made him so upset?" He really is enjoying this. I sometimes wonder if he tortures me on purpose, or if it's the alcohol talking. But no, he is as abrasive as ever when he's sober. Perhaps more.

"I told him why I shot Snow."

"Nah... that wouldn't make anyone run for the hills, not even him. You said something else."

Did I? What had led to me talking about killing Snow? I rack my brain looking for that conversation, and it takes me a while to really find it. Of course, that would certainly trigger an attack in Peeta. His mind could never understand that horror, and I don't blame him, for it haunts me, as my nightmares rightfully prove.

"I voted yes," I say simply, and I can tell Haymitch understands. Then again, he also voted yes.

"We never had those games, did we?"

"No. Paylor never asked for them."

"No, we didn't have them because you shot Coin." With that, he stands up, and I can't tell if he's angry or not that the games never took place. "Bonding time's over, sweetheart."

x-x-x

I sit on the windowsill in my room, looking out into the night. A few streetlamps are lit, but most of the houses are in darkness already. What time is it? Probably close to 1 in the morning. I've been sitting here since dinner, but cannot make myself go to bed. Haymitch's words eat at me.

How is it possible that his words affect me so? He doesn't even say much, but when he does, his words are like daggers. It's like he knows exactly which buttons to push with me. Well, he knows me too well. We are too much alike.

He is right, of course. The last Hunger Games did not take place because I shot Coin. Our vote was supposedly confidential, but I cannot be certain that at least my vote was broadcast. I don't want to know. The weight of what could have happened is too heavy on my shoulders.

It is nights like this one in which I revisit those last seconds before I shot Coin, having Snow in front of me, smiling as if this were just part of his game, the blood on his lips and the intoxicating smell of the one rose I had him wear, where I was going to shoot. My mind was in turmoil then, I could see faceless and nameless children being reaped, torn from their parents, to take part in the same violence that I was forced into. At that moment, something in me snapped, and instead of killing Snow, I went for Coin. That one arrow carried all my hatred towards the Capitol and to her Machiavellian view on things.

Hadn't too many children died already? My sister one of them?

And I feel that anger again, now. That anger I felt looking at Coin's smug face as she saw me train my arrow on Snow, how much she was expecting me to do this, and then possibly having me committed to an asylum, or jail, or wherever it is you lock the people who stand in your way. I couldn't let her bring on another Capitol. I just couldn't.

My shoulders are shaking with my choked sobs, and I hug my knees. This is what they've done of me, all of them. Snow, Coin, Plutarch... maybe even Cinna, although I do not suppose he'd condone Coin sending my sister into battle, or sending Peeta over to kill me. I never did ask him what he thought of the whole arrangement. Surely he of all people knew from the start that I was pretending in the arena. But he wanted me to be the Mockingjay, he believed in me that way.

I'm sorry Cinna. I was not as strong as you believed me to be, and now I am broken. When I look in the mirror, I no longer see the beautiful girl you made me. I am no longer the girl on fire. I was consumed by that very fire, which was my strength. I am an empty shell. That's why I am in exile. There is no other way to describe it, really. Haymitch and I were exiled, and Peeta too. We were not wanted anywhere near government, and I can't blame them. At the same time, I would not want to be there. I want nothing to do with it anymore. I want...

Still shaking, I get down from my sill and go to the study. The telephone sits there, full of dust. I haven't used it in such a long time. I pick up the receiver and dial the number I have somehow committed to memory, even though I have not much use to it. It rings once, twice... three times before the line connects. And there she is, her voice sleepy and detached.

"Mum?" I whisper.

"Katniss!" she is alert now. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I just wanted to hear your voice." How uncharacteristically of me, wanting to hear the voice of the one person I disliked for so long for shutting us out when father died. But here I am, taking in every musical note of it. "How... how are you?" I'm not good at this.

"I'm okay. I had a really rough day at the hospital, but I can rest now."

"Oh... I'm sorry. I should let you sleep."

"No, no! Katniss! I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you called. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." It's true, I have missed her. "I... I just wanted to say that. Go to bed, we'll talk another day."

"Katniss, are you alright?" The concern in her voice is evident.

"Yes, mother..." my voice, in contrast, is tired. "I'm surviving."

"Are you eating? Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Yes, mother. Greasy Sae makes sure I do."

"Good. I'm glad."

"We'll speak soon."

"Yes, we will. Goodnight, Katniss. I love you."

"Goodnight, mum." I hang up, and then whisper that I love her back.

x-x-x

"You shouldn't sleep here," his voice is as soft and kind as his arms are strong and firm when he lifts me from the chair. I must have fallen asleep at the desk. I pass my arms around his neck, and let him carry me upstairs. How often does he do this? Why is he in my house at whatever ungodly hour of the night it is? How does he even get in?

I don't ask, just let him bring me to my bed and place me gently on the pillows. There is enough light coming in that I can see his eyes as his right hand comes to caress my cheek. I just look at him as his hand continues to touch my face, pushing my hair back, drying the couple of tears I can feel trailing down. He doesn't smile. In fact, his face is expressionless.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

"For what?"

"For causing you so much pain." As his eyes harden, I start blurting out things, everything from why I killed Coin, to how sick it makes me to think I would have condemned twenty-three children to die, to how I despise myself and what a horrible person I am. I can't stop. It's all just coming out of my mouth like an avalanche, and he just stares at me like I've gone insane. Perhaps I have. "At least you no longer have the nightmares," I say, and that makes him react.

"What do you mean?"

"You told me once that your nightmares were about losing me, surely that no longer has any effect on you. The Katniss you loved is gone, and all that's left is me, this horrible person I have become."

He stands up then, and looks at me from above.

"I still have those nightmares," he says, "and they are as real now as they were before."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

We haven't talked about it.

It seems like it is a topic not meant for us to discuss, and asking seems to me like an invasion of his privacy. He has a right to some privacy, the same which was taken away the first time we were reaped for the games. Since then, our lives have been in the public eye, and it's only recently that we've been left to our own devices.

I, for one, do not miss the glamour days.

We may not eat lamb stew and other such delicacies. We may not dress in finery, and may not live like kings, but we are free to do as we please. Well. Mostly. At least it's a good balance between the Capitol and District 13, where everything was rules, and how to dress, and what to do, and what to eat and how much... now at least I get to go hunting, Haymitch gets to drink, and Peeta gets to bake as much as he wants.

His cakes are so popular that orders come in from other districts, and when shipments come, full of things for us, they leave again with the fruits of Peeta's labour. It keeps him busy in the mornings, baking. He does provide bread for the district, at very good prices, and he lives on that. I keep myself with my hunting, and we both basically support Haymitch, although he does get some money from his geese once in a while. If he remembers what he's doing.

In the afternoons, Peeta comes over and we work on the book. There are still many things we want to include, and now with Haymitch contributing, the book is growing steadily. It's one of my treasures.

My treasures. I keep them in a drawer in my room, my unlikely treasures: my mockingjay pin, if only because it reminds me of Madge and Cinna; the locket with pictures of my mother, Prim and Gale; the spile, which for some reason I still have; and the pearl Peeta gave me. I hardly ever look at my treasures, but there they are, close to my heart.

At night Peeta always comes back to me. He has been sleeping in my bed for some months now, and this arrangement suits us both. Whenever I wake in nightmare-induced hysterics, he's there to hold me and calm me down. When he, in turn, wakes up in nightmares, he can reassure himself that I haven't disappeared. I do not know why he fears losing me so. I am not worth so much.

He has been a great support though, and in small ways has helped me out of the burning depression that I feel. His most radical act was to bring primroses to my house. He planted them all around without my knowledge, until one day I saw them poking out of the earth. I knew at once it was his doing, and while I wanted to punch the living lights out of him for reminding me of her in that way, I couldn't. I understood why he had done it, and now I tend to those flowers myself. Buttercup likes walking among them. He, too, still feels the loss of Prim.

What I did do, though, was plant something else among the primroses. I planted dandelions. I need them as much as I need the primroses, to remind me that I need to go on, for Prim, for my mother, who wouldn't be able to stand it if I died too.

x-x-x

Peeta is due in any minute. I find myself getting ready to bed looking out of the window, trying to make out his silhouette in the night as he approaches, but I see nothing. I let my clothes drop to the floor and head for a shower. I spend a few minutes there, letting the warm water calm my sore muscles from the earlier hunt.

When I come back into my room, wrapped in a towel, Peeta is sitting on my bed, removing his shoes. He looks up at me and smiles tiredly. He smells of flour and warm bread.

"You were baking at this hour?" I ask. He does sometimes, but not very often.

"Yeah, I brought some bread to the workers putting up the factory. Thought they'd be hungry."

"Were they?"

"By the way in which they slapped my back, I suppose they were."

We prepare for bed then in silence. His night clothes are here, the one thing that never leaves. They are the proof that, despite his keeping his own house and spending part of the day there, the roof over his head is really here. It's an arrangement we both need, one I'm not too sure my mother approves of. I've told her about it, when she asks me how my nightmares are. She knows Peeta spends every night here, but she doesn't ask what we do.

It's not like we do anything.

It's like routine, really. We sleep next to one another. We've found ways in which to share the bed so that both are comfortable, and it works. We don't have much contact overall, unless there are nightmares, his or mine, for then he is there, his arms around me.

"Oh," he says as he removes his trousers, "I almost forgot! There was a letter downstairs, from your mother."

He hands me the envelope, and I sit next to him again to open it. The letter is thick, and I wonder just how much she wrote. I only find a few words, though. I smile as I read them.

"You'll like this," I tell Peeta, and start reading out loud. "My dear Katniss, I hope that when this letter reaches you, you will be in good health. I am happy to announce you the great news! Annie gave birth to a healthy boy two days ago. They are both doing very well. She's naming him Finnick, after his father, but all she calls him at the moment is Finn. She has asked me to include a picture of him for you both (yes, she means Peeta and you), and asks for it to be shown to Haymitch. All my love to you, and warmest greetings to Peeta. Your loving mother." I then take the picture out of the envelope, and we both look at the tiny baby.

"Looks like he'll be a strong swimmer," Peeta says, smiling at the picture. "Like his father."

"We should put it in the book tomorrow," I say. "We can make a page especially for him. We can put the photograph and then you can paint marine motives around it, like you did with their wedding cake."

"That's an excellent idea."

And so it is that we go to bed in a strangely happy condition. Yes, we feel the loss of Finnick, who was a great friend and whose death was horrible and senseless. But his hope lives on, now in Annie and their son Finn.

x-x-x

There are no nightmares, but I find myself tightly wrapped in Peeta's arms. At first I am all alert, wondering if something is wrong, if someone's trying to break into the house or something, but now. It's all quiet except for Peeta's ragged breathing. He's clutching me so hard I wonder if he's having an attack, but no, I can feel the tears on my neck, the tears obviously falling down his cheeks. My left arm manages to move back a bit and hold on to his thigh. He now knows I'm awake.

"It's over," I tell him, my hand pressing down on his thigh, trying to comfort him as he comforts me. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."

Whatever it was, it has made him miserable, and he is reluctant to let me go. Since there's nothing I can think of to do, I just let him rock himself into calmness. It takes him time, but at last his grip loosens, and I can move freely again. But I don't. I stay as I am for I can his lips on my neck. He's not necessarily kissing me, his lips are just there, moving slightly as his emotions ebb.

"Peeta," I say when he stops shivering.

"Sorry," he whispers, but doesn't let go.

"It's okay." A question burns in my lips, more so when his lips actually do kiss my neck. "What was it this time?" It's not the question I want to ask, but that's the best I can do for now.

"The usual..." he is evasive, but not convincing.

"It's not the usual," I tell him, turning to look at him. "Something was different today." His eyes peer into mine, and I see the desperation. He is silently asking me not to ask this of him. I can see he's still scared and shaken, although his body has stopped shivering, and his breathing has calmed. "Please. It helps me when I talk about it."

"Katniss, I can't..."

"Please."

I can tell he doesn't want to tell me, but that something in him is breaking. Finally he sighs, presses his lips to mine briefly, surprising me, and then blurts it all out.

"I killed you." The pain is evident in his eyes. "In my nightmare... I was having an attack and... I didn't manage to control myself... you didn't run fast enough and... I killed you with my own hands. I just sat there, with your blood everywhere, and I knew how terrible it was, and that I could never go back. You have no idea the relief I felt when I woke up and there you were and..." he kisses me again, just for a second. "I'm sorry."

"It was a dream," I say, pulling him close to me, rocking him myself now. "You did not kill me, I'm okay. You are okay, too."

"What if it happens? What if I...?"

"Peeta, you've had countless opportunities to kill me, and you haven't. After all this time, I don't think you're going to do it." He nods in my arms, and I know this is the moment to ask. Whatever else, we are at a turning point. Whatever I ask now, surely he will answer truthfully. "Why, Peeta? Why do you keep having these nightmares? Why are you so afraid of losing me?"

He was not expecting that question, and I can see how it affects him. He's looking at me as if it were obvious, but I need to know. I need to hear it from his lips. He leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he's all seriousness.

"Because you're all I've got left."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Whatever else happened between us in the past, I was not expecting that kind of answer from him. The idea that he could still have feelings for me seems totally ridiculous. If anyone should hate me, it is Peeta, for everything I put him through, for everything I said. But no. And I am the blindest person in the world, it seems, for when I express my concerns to Haymitch and Greasy Sae they both look at me as if I've lost it.

"You are not surprised," I say, somewhat astonished.

"Why would we?" Greasy Sae says. "That boy has been in love with you since the stone age."

"He can't still be," I argue back. "Not after all that happened. I'm not the same person I was before!"

"No one is the same person after the Hunger Games," Haymitch says, alarmingly sober. How many days till the next shipment this time? Three? Four? "Or after a war, for that matter. Yes. You are a different person, but so is he. I don't know what he sees in you, anyway, but I suppose something remains in there, and he clings to it."

No matter what I argue, they always have a counter argument. It's like I cannot free myself of Peeta's love no matter what.

Do I want his love? I don't deserve it, that's for sure.

I think of Gale, too. Do I want his love? There, the answer is a resounding no. Not that kind of love. While Gale will always have a special place in my heart, but there is a certain violence deep within him that worried me, even before Prim's death.

Gale... how fitting is his name. He is an untamed force like the winds. Impossible to stop.

Peeta is gentle, in sharp contrast. How did he even survive the first Hunger Games? How did he live long enough for me to find him? Had they not changed the rules he might have died. He would have been spared all the suffering.

Yes, he asked for death many times since then. Unlike many of us, Peeta always saw himself as expendable. He saw the bigger picture, he saw how things could work out without him, perhaps much easier than with him. But I wouldn't let him die, not even when he was a threat to me. I couldn't sacrifice the goodness in him, the hope that he had represented since I was eleven years old. He saved my life, then, and I have tried to repay him by saving his.

But then, everyone at the Quarter Quell was trying to keep me alive, while all I wanted was to keep him. Everyone wanted to keep me alive so that I could become the Mockingjay. They all had a purpose for me.

Except for Peeta. He just wanted me to live. He did not want me to be the Mockingjay, and then he fought hard against the hijacking of his mind, battling between reality and lies, having lost his family and a lot of friends in the process.

And then he came back to District 12, and now he sleeps with me every night.

I don't resist when he kisses me.

He never imposes, and if he sees me uncomfortable, he stops. Mostly, I feel his lips when I'm being pulled from nightmares, as he tries to calm me. Not just his arms, but his lips, too, are hard at work, keeping me sane, pulling me back to reality. Sometimes he kisses my neck, sometimes my cheeks, sometimes my hands, and rarely my lips. He saves those kisses for the worst moments, when it is very hard to calm me, or when my screaming leaves me powerless and defeated.

How long can we go on like this? How long can he be content with just that? Is it ever enough? What is true, is that I don't think I could ever relinquish it, not now, when I have shared my bed with him every night for almost a year. The primroses and dandelions around my house are ready to bloom again, and I cannot wait to see them.

x-x-x

I'm lying on silky sheets in a canopied bed. I do not know this place, but I have the feeling I have been there before. I am wearing the red dress from my first Hunger Games interview, although my hair now cascades down in soft curls. It is quite long and cared for. No doubt my prep team and Cinna had something to do with it.

I try to sit up to explore exactly where I am, but my hands are tied, and I cannot move. What's going on here? Where am I?

"Hello?" I call out, but no one replies.

I fidget with my shackles, trying to free myself, but the more I try, the tighter they become.

"It's no use, you know?" I hear Finnick's voice very near me. Out of nowhere, another bed appears next to mine, and there he is, sitting naked with his knees drawn up. He is slowly rocking himself, his wrists and ankles chafed from now absent ligatures, and he is crying. "It's no use. The more you fight, the more they hurt you."

"Finnick..."

"You are a champion now, you have to accept your fate."

"My fate? But..."

"They say Snow himself will have you first, at least that's what his wife has just told me. They say he will burn that dress off you, and then have his way with you. After that, you'll be fair game for the others."

"This can't be happening!" I fight against the ropes, but they only pull me tighter. There are ropes at my ankles, too, and the four points pull me towards the corners of the bed. It hurts, but it takes all my willpower to stop myself from fighting.

The pulling stops, and eventually the ropes slacken a bit.

"See?" Finnick says. "That's better now."

"How can you stand it?" I ask him, the anger boiling in me.

"I have no choice, do I?" he gives me a crooked smile. "If I don't do as I'm told, they'll hurt Annie and Finn. I cannot let that happen."

His image flickers off, and I can hear the door opening. I'm fighting the ligatures again, and they are pulling me harder than ever. I cry out, but try to remain focused. A figure has entered my room, and try as I might I cannot discern who it is. I can feel the hands going up my thighs, my torso, my breasts... I feel the legs swinging to my sides, as he, Snow clearly now, straddles me. The look on his face is terrifying. His wicked smile tainted with blood, and the air suffocating with rose scent.

"Now, my Mockingjay," he says, "let's see you fly out of this one..."

"No... no! NO!"

I see the knife before I feel it, cutting through the bodice of my dress, the tip barely breaking into my skin. I'm pleading for him to stop, and even Finnick's concerned voice can stop me.

"You've got to stop struggling, Katniss," his pained voice tells me, "or they'll hurt him."

"Peeta..." I whisper.

"That boy you never loved is not here to save you," Snow says, his hands poised to rip the fabric off my body. "Now it's time to pay for your lies!"

"NO! PEETA!"

I kick and scream and fight Snow as he tries to subdue me. He will not get the better of me, he will not make me an object of luxury, he will not break me. He will not...

"Katniss!"

I hear my name, and then I feel the lips pressed against mine, the arms clinging to my body, the passion running through it. And I'm awake. Awake and in Peeta's arms. Snow is not real, the room is not real, the red dress is not real... But Peeta is. His lips and arms are real, his warmth is real. Everything about him is very real.

And I cling to him as if my life depends on it, and I kiss him with all the strength I've got. I can't let him go, and I'm pressing myself to him. He is half kneeling against the wall as I kneel in front of him, kissing him as if the life will leave my body if I don't. He responds with equal force, his hands clutching the fabric of my nightgown at my back.

And that's when I feel it, for the first time since the Quarter Quell, that stirring deep within me that makes everything but Peeta disappear. That thing that makes me lose contact with the world but keeps me attached to him. That thing that makes kissing Peeta not enough.

Before I can truly register what I'm doing, I've pulled his shirt off, our lips separating just that one moment I need to get it past his head. In that brief second, Peeta looks at me, as if to make sure I'm awake and aware of what I'm doing. I am, of course I am, now more than ever.

I let him undress me as we roll back into bed, where his hands touch me and mine touch him, where he erases every single drop of pain and anguish left from my nightmare. There is no reason left, no reason because there is no need for there to be any. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that we made it out, we survived, Snow did not break us, and we came out alive.

We came out together.

x-x-x

I'm lying on my belly, next to Peeta, the sheets somehow at my waist. I can feel Peeta's hands stroking my back, his lips kissing my brow. I open my eyes and he is watching me, a small smile on his lips. In the dim light of dawn, his blue eyes are burning bright.

I smile at him, and lean over to kiss his lips, resting my head on his shoulder. He pulls me closer, protecting me in his embrace. There are no nightmares, but he is there, and I am happy he is there.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

"Did you sleep?"

"Yeah, bit. You?"

"Nah, I couldn't stop looking at you. I had to convince myself over and over that you are real, that I am not dreaming this."

"You're not," I say, passing my arms around him. "This is very real."

"I'm glad. I don't think I could face waking up now and finding it was all a dream."

"Some things should remain detached from reality," I say, and I can see he doesn't quite like what I'm saying, so I finish, "this is not one of them."

"No, I guess not."

I kiss him again, and he sits up then, bringing me with him. I'm barely aware of the fact that I am half naked in front of him, not that it matters now, and he is as undressed as I am. He is looking at me intently, as if studying me. There seems to be a question burning in his lips.

"We've come a long way, haven't we?" I ask, trying to encourage him to talk.

"We have." He still doesn't look ready.

"What is it, Peeta?" I ask, my hand at his cheek. He leans down and gives me another kiss, his lips lingering on mine as he works up the courage to speak.

"I live in a world where illusions seem very real at times," he tells me. "Sometimes I cannot tell the two apart."

"I told you, this is real."

He chuckles. "That's not what I'm afraid of. I think I am quite convinced of that now. What happened last night was real."

"Then? What's worrying you?"

"Perhaps it's my imagination, but..." He takes a deep breath before looking straight into my eyes. This is it. "You love me. Real or not real?"

I smile, and I savour this moment, even though I know my delay is only making him more nervous. I kiss him, and then, looking straight at him again, I reply.

"Real."

A/N: So, that's it! :D Hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it Gotta run! Any comments or questions, just rewview/PM me


End file.
